


it’s sort of a tradition now

by gaily-daily (passionateartist)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, but like only a splash of soulmates, i just love soulmate au's, its not the main focus, then soulmates wormed its way in, they give me life, this started out as a normal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionateartist/pseuds/gaily-daily
Summary: Habits are hard to kill as they say. Especially if that habit is Bruce Wayne.





	it’s sort of a tradition now

They say a soulmate is one person trapped in two separate bodies. Bullshit. Jerome knows a lie when he hears it. 

He’s born with a name. All fancy and suave with big letters. Out of all the first words people say to each other, of all the “How do you do’s” the “Hello’s” the “Excuse me’s” and the random things that strangers say to one another, a name is not particularly common. His mother had always been jealous.

At age 10 he takes a knife to his skin and scrapes the flesh off. This does not stop the way his mother sometimes glares at his arm, at what they both know is written in secret. But it does stop her attempts to erase it herself. 

The first Bruce he kills happens behind the tent away from the prying eyes of circus patrons. (“I was just trying to show him the snakes.” He says teary eyed at the officers. “He told me he wanted to see them up close.”)

The second Bruce takes a nasty stumble into the lion’s cage. He’s not even questioned this time.

The third and fourth Bruces’ follow Jerome into the woods surrounding the town. Two for the price of one. The authorities never find the bodies.

At 18 when Robert Callahan asks him to kill Gotham’s son, Bruce Wayne, Jerome has to stop himself from dissolving into a fit of giggles. How funny fate is. He doesn’t need to think about the offer twice. A chance to rid the world of yet another Bruce is a golden opportunity to him.

Except then he dies.

Except then he lives.

After he comes back from the dead, Jerome gathers up everyone he can and heads to Wayne manor. When he’s asked why, he says that killing Bruce Wayne is simply the last thing he remembers wanting to do. It works well enough.

But then Bruce surprises him. (He hates that). And then he knocks him down. (He loves that). And Bruce _lives_ and Jerome fails yet again. That’s twice now he’s gotten away.

Something nasty blooms in his chest after that. Something he doesn’t want to examine. And when they ship Jerome back to Arkham, he’s already planning his next attempt at Bruce’s demise with a climbing giddy sensation he cannot get rid of. He tells himself it will work next time. (He rather hopes it doesn’t).

-

The car bounces as it makes another sharp turn. Bruce gets a sharp jab in the side for eyeing the back door too closely and he doubles over from the sudden pain. The nameless goon snorts, pulling back the gun and sitting quietly once more. Bruce glares angrily at the man. He then let’s his gaze shift to the person sitting directly across from him. 

“Why?” He snarls as best he can.

Jerome tilts his head. Bruce’s voice has gotten deeper with age. And he can’t help but think how much more pleasant the other boy’s growl is this time around. How much darker.

_What has dear Brucie boy been up to?_

“Why wait a whole year?” Bruce spares another glance at the goon keeping watch as the van speeds through the streets to only god knows where. “What’s the point?”

Jerome holds a hand to his chest. Gasping quietly and looking around before letting his gaze fall back on Bruce’s angry eyes.

“Darling boy, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

Bruce narrows his eyes. Fire spitting at him in his gaze. Jerome remembers that flame. The way Bruce’s fists connected with his face. Everyone was capable of darkness. Everyone.

He leans in closer, lips splitting into a grin. “Our anniversary?”

Bruce looks taken back. A brow lifts in disbelief. Jerome sighs, hand clenching tight at the fabric over his chest. “I’m beginning to think I’m the only one who puts anything into this relationship.”

“Are you serious?”

“Rarely.”

“That’s why you’re trying to kill me _now_? You deliberately waited an entire year to exact revenge for some sort of inane anniversary joke?”

Jerome’s lips curl. A growl of his own matching Bruce’s. Though it is not as deep. It’s higher and more shrill. 

“I’m not doing this for revenge. That. Would. Be. _Boring_.”

“Then why?” 

Jerome’s hand finally slips from his chest and he leans back. He pauses a moment, head jerking to the side as a cough racks through his entire body. Then he snaps to attention. Spine tingling at the movement. Fingers itching for action.

“Same reason I do anything.” He grins. “For fun!”

Bruce clenches his teeth. “Well I’m not having any fun.”

“That’s because you’re a party pooper. You should be grateful that I even spared you any thought to—”

But Bruce has had enough. Jerome’s mistake had been handcuffing Bruce’s hands behind his back where he couldn’t see the bobby pin. It was actually quite ironic. After being chained to a pole at the fair last year, Jerome had been the very reason Bruce had begun keeping bobby pins in his pocket should he ever need to pick a lock again. Bruce had learned from that encounter. Though it seemed Jerome had not.

The second the handcuffs click, the goon hears it and instantly lifts his gun. Bruce smashes his fist against the other man’s face causing the gun to drop. He quickly swipes the gun and holds it up. Instant revulsion overtakes him as his hand slides over the hard unfamiliar metal. But he’s determined to get out of this. 

Jerome’s laughter is obnoxious as it fills the back of the van. Bruce points it, wavering slightly as he presses his back to the door of the van. He keeps his gaze on Jerome as his other hand fumbles with the handle. 

Jerome’s body coils, as if knowing Bruce didn’t have it in him to shoot. Bruce’s fingers curl around the door handle just as Jerome springs. They fall out of the vehicle onto the pavement below. They roll over the pavement, skin scrapping painfully against the road. Bruce hears brakes screeching and people screaming. He braces for an impact but nothing comes. He opens his eyes. A car is stopped inches from his face. Any second later and he’d have been a bloodied splat.

Bruce sits up and hisses as pain erupts in his ribs. The door of the car opens and a pale-stricken face pops out.

“Oh my god are you okay?”

Bruce opens his mouth to reply, but all his breath is punched back into him when a bullet rips into their face. Fear strikes him instantly as he twists around to see Jerome limping towards him. 

“Oh Bruce, why must you always make things so difficult?” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a wheezing than anything else.

The gun points at the young billionaire and Bruce stiffens. “Now be a good boy and get back in the van.”

“GCPD! You’re under arrest! Put the gun down!”

Jerome frowns as two police officers arrive on the scene. He growls hatefully at them, swinging the gun around to point at them instead. 

“Drop the gun and get down on the ground!”

“Make me!” Jerome shrieks.

Two shots ring out and Jerome drops. He clutches his wounded arm and staggers backwards. “Huh, guess they actually made me.” He gives a wet little giggle to his own joke.

Bruce takes it as his cue to stand up. Jerome gives him a guilty look. 

“Guess we’ll have to postpone this till next time yeah?”

Bruce would have replied with a snarl but his ribs hurt too much to spare any extra air. He settles for glaring.

-

On the exact day, one year later, Wayne Manor receives a package in the mail. When it goes off it destroys the entire porch and most of the second floor. Jim promises to investigate how Jerome was able to send Bruce a bomb when he was still locked up in Arkham. But Bruce doubts that even if they did find out how, they wouldn’t be able to stop it.

He does not show the detective the card that comes a day later. It was a crude drawing of Bruce’s home blowing up with him inside it. His body is scattered to bits over the page in a bloody mess with the words ‘Sorry I couldn’t be there, see you next year –xoxo’ at the bottom. 

After that Alfred begins to mark the calendar. It is a simple red X on a single day out of the year. There is no indication of what it is for, but they both know. 

-

The next time they cross paths it is an accident. Bruce had told Alfred he was meeting with a friend at the mall and no he didn’t need a ride. It was only a little white lie, so Bruce doesn’t feel particularly bad about it. He couldn’t very well buy the man’s birthday present with him standing right there after all. Originally he thought about having it delivered to the manor, but there was no guarantee he’d get to the mail before Alfred opened it. Besides, Alfred would start getting suspicious if Bruce suddenly starting checking the mail everyday. 

It’d been awhile since Bruce had been to the mall. It was interesting to see all the new changes they’d made since last he’d last been here. With the present in hand, Bruce is about to make his way out of the store when a man sporting a bright yellow and purple beanie, aviators sitting on his nose, barrels in through the door and holds up a gun.

“Hands up this is a robbery!”

Alfred was going to kill him.

The behind the counter, a man moves to hit the panic button and the robber shoots him. He points the gun at the security guard. 

“Move and I’ll shoot you too.” Then he shoots him anyway, giving a little laugh. “Whoops! Looks like I was lying!”

The robber turns to throw a dirty bag at the other saleswoman, still alive and now shaking. Shes crying loudly and has started to hiccup. 

“Load it up! And could you hurry please? I think I might have used up all my bullets there. I had to use some earlier and never reloaded. Probably should’ve saved one huh? Oh well, pobody’s nerfect.”

It’s then that he finally spots Bruce and he freezes. He turns away, as if embarrassed. 

“Shit, shiiiiit!” He clears his throat, making several wild gestures and then turns back to face him. “Er, um, heeey Brucie. What’s up?” 

Bruce feels dumb for not recognizing his voice before. But after having the other man address him directly, he finally puts a name to the partially hidden face.

Jerome waves awkwardly. Like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It’s not supposed to be time yet. It’s three months before their anniversary. And if he’s being honest here, Jerome hasn’t actually thought anything up for this year yet. Not because he doesn’t have any ideas, no, but because he has too many. Sometimes it’s a flaw to be so creative.

He sighs and drops his hand. “Fuck it.” Because why throw away an opportunity when it falls right into your lap? He approaches Bruce, delightfully noting how instead of backing away, the other boy hardens and he just knows this kid will put up a good fight. 

Changing his mind at the last mind, he swivels away towards the body of the security guard. Bruce predictably follows. Jerome feels himself being tackled from behind and they fall with an oomph. Well, more-so him than Bruce. Bruce doesn’t oomph so much as he makes a sort of manly grunt. It’s cute.

Bruce tries to keep him down, hoping the saleswoman has called for reinforcements. If he manages to keep his hold no one would get hurt. But then suddenly he’s jolting and wheezing. He falls backwards unable to breath. Jerome flips over with a grin on his face and a taser in his hand.

Jerome gets up and watches Bruce fidget on the ground for a second. He can’t help but indulge in these little moments! Clearing his throat, he pushes away distracting thoughts and reaches down to drag a temporarily limp Bruce outside the of the shop. What luck they were on the second floor! He makes his way over to the ledge and peers over. The mall fountain streams below them as several people start to point up at them and yell. He can spot several security guards coming their way. Heh, they’ll be too late anyway. 

The fall from this height may not necessarily kill Bruce, but it would certainly break several bones. And Jerome wasn’t really aiming to kill him right now anyway. When he finally did off Bruce Wayne it was NOT going to be from a coincidental meeting. 

“Allll the kings horses and allll the king’s men!” He singsongs, trying to push Bruce over.

But Bruce plants his feet into the ground, and he shoves an elbow backwards into Jerome’s stomach.

“Oof!”

The taser drops and Bruce somehow manages to twist around and grab at Jerome’s shirt. He’s still leaning dangerously close over the edge. “If I go down you go down.” He hisses.

Jerome opens his mouth to reply but cannot form words over the oncoming cough. The giggle fractures and dissipates. Bruce should really know him better by now.

Without thinking twice, he throws them both over. He only gets to enjoy the complete look of shock in Bruce’s face for a brief moment before they land in the cold water. Bruce lands on his side. Jerome’s head hits something hard and he opens his mouth to gasp but water comes rushing in. He tries to sit up but his back won’t work properly. How embarrassing. To die in a public fountain.

As he’s gasping for breath and flailing around, he feels something grab hold of him and fish him out. Jerome coughs, vomiting water. He blinks his strained eyes open and sees Bruce hovering worriedly over him. Once Bruce can see he’s okay, he turns to start waving down the guards. 

“Over here! We’re over--mmf!”

The kiss is sloppy and cold. Jerome ruffles Bruce’s hair for good measure before forcefully pulling away. “Thanks Brucie! See you in three months!”

“Wh-what? Wait!”

He tries to follow Jerome out of the fountain but his right ankle is throbbing and it hurts to breath in. He watches as Jerome produces a knife out of nowhere and throws it at an oncoming guard. The man drops and Jerome proceeds to steal his gun. He slips through the crowd as easy as butter.

-

The days come and go and months slide by. When another year passes, the occupants at Wayne Manor hold their breathes. The day comes. They wait. 

Nothing happens.

Bruce does not receive any deadly weapons in the mail. He is not visited by a would-be assassin. He is not attacked in public. But it is not until the week is out that Alfred begins to relax. 

“Perhaps he’s finally grown tired of his little game.”

Bruce does not comment. 

-

It’s taken him several attempts, but Bruce’s feet have finally remembered how to ice skate. Alfred is slow beside him, he was never much good on the ice. Bruce glides around him, more graceful with each passing moment, and Alfred huffs indignantly. He tries harder to skate and only succeeds in wobbling about worse than before. Bruce laughs, taking pity and coming to a stop. 

“Right,” Alfred straightens his coat trying to appear like he hadn’t fallen on his face seconds ago, “think I’ll go get a warm cup of hot chocolate at the stand.”

Bruce gives an apologetic sorry and lets the poor man retreat to solid ground. He watches him go for a distance then turns to resume gliding over the ice. 

It’s been ages since he’s last been here. The last time being when his parents were still alive. They came here as a family, skating together with the other people. Bruce remembers bright laughter and smiling faces. He looks out on the ice and spots several families with their children. He sees happy couples cuddling together for warmth. He misses this spot. He misses them.

The peace is broken with the resounding crack of gunshots firing across the ice. Skaters and hearts stop as two people drop. Red and white mix together as blood runs over the smooth icy surface. The screams start soon after. Bruce feels the warmth of his memories leave him as the coldness of the present engulfs him. 

Bruce’s only thought is Alfred. Where is he? Is he safe? What was he— but then Bruce catches a glimpse of a wide smile and all other thoughts are pushed away as Jerome makes his way towards him. 

“Ah-ah! No running away!” Jerome reaches out to grab a sobbing woman and shoving a knife under her throat. But he’s not talking to her. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to get hurt now would we? After all the trouble I went through to get here!”

Bruce stops almost immediately. “Let her go.”

Jerome grins. “Happy belated anniversary!” 

He does not want to rise to the bait. For it’s obvious that’s what this is. But the anger is starting to take over again. He can feel it bubbling in his veins. It starts out low, it always does. Like a burning coal. Then it grows, catching fire to the rest of his body and burning him inside out. 

The secret fury Bruce tries so hard to hide from the rest of the world. He thinks Alfred knows but they’ve never talked about it directly. He’s grateful. He doesn’t want to see a psychiatrist about this. Other people call it anger issues, Bruce calls it surviving.

It happens only in times of great stress. Like now. Bruce feels like he changes whenever he’s around Jerome. Like all the goodness and humanity is sucked out of the surrounding air and all that is left within himself is anger and pain. And the need, the insistent urging need to bash the laughing maniac’s head in. He wants to _hurt_ him. He wants to make this other person suffer for all the suffering they’ve caused. 

Bruce does not feel normal. He feels Other. Feels apart from people in these moments. Because the sick, overwhelming desire to break bones does not scare him. Not like it would a normal person. And that is exactly why it worries Bruce. Because he _should_ be scared of the way he wants to inflict pain on other people. But in these moments, when he’s looking back into Jerome’s wild eyes, all he wants to do is embrace it.

“That was three months ago.” He says. Keeping his voice calm even as he feels like screaming.

“You remembered!” Jerome gasps, a hand going to his cheek. “I’m touched!”

Only because Bruce had been waiting for another bomb in the mail. But he says nothing and settles for narrowing his eyes. 

Jerome seems to understand anyway. For he shrugs and drops his hand. “Yes well, I told the staff how important our anniversary was but they just wouldn’t listen you know? And I didn’t want to send you another lovely gift. I’m not one for repeat performances.”

“Apparently.”

Jerome chuckles and Bruce spares a quick look around the rink. The people who have made it to the edges are trapped. Jerome’s followers (Clownies as the papers have started to call them) have shown up to block them in. Their guns are pointed inward, keeping everyone inside. Bruce can hear them commanding everyone to sit down. Slowly, but surely, they start to obey. Until everyone is sitting around the rim of the rink, guns blocking them in. 

When Bruce looks back, Jerome’s gaze has flicked down to the woman. He tilts his head. “This is rather nice.” He contemplates as he strokes the hot pink fur of her jacket’s hood. (1) It’s color clashes hideously with the dark green of the rest of the coat. He leans in to mutter darkly, “Can I have it?”

The woman is unable to reply, her crying rendering her incapable of speech. Jerome moves his hand to nod her chin up and down in a mock yes. “Really? Thanks! You’re too kind!”

Jerome retracts his knife and rips the jacket from the woman’s body. She falls to the ice and tries to crawl away. Bruce moves in to help her. 

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” But she’s too hysterical to hear him. She scrambles away for the rim of the rink. She’d rather chance it with the gun-wielding followers than the lunatic in the middle of the ice.

Jerome whips the coat around his shoulders with a dramatic flair. He pulls the fur around his face and hums happily. 

“We both know it’s me you want so let these people go.” Bruce seethes hotly at him. That seems to get the madman’s attention. 

“Oh please, you sound like an old movie. Is this the part where the hero gives himself up for the safety of the people?”

Bruce stands to his full height. “Only if you let them go _unharmed_.”

Jerome gives him a once over, eyebrow lifting, before bursting into hysterical giggles. “Okay okay, you win! I can’t resist when you make that little angry face!” The giggles come to an abrupt halt when he coughs into his fist. It lasts only for a second before Jerome shakes it off and straightens up. “But let’s make it a little more fun shall we?”

Bruce braces himself when Jerome skates nearer. He forces himself to stay still as the other man glides around him in an ominous circle. 

“You do a little something for me, I let a scared civilian go or two. What’d ya say Brucie boy?”

He’s going to regret this. But he needs to stall for time. Someone has no doubt contacted the police by now. Maybe Alfred has--Bruce stops himself. No, he can’t think about Alfred right now. He must have faith his butler is okay, he’s always okay, and that he’s getting help. The only thing Bruce can do right now is keep his head firmly on his shoulders. 

“Fine.”

Jerome grins. His breath is fowl as he breathes out. _“Good.”_

He makes a gesture to one of his men and they start to let a few people out of the rink. They let about ten go before closing it back up again, cutting everyone off from outside.

“So Bruce,” he skates back around to the front and bends low to hold out a hand, “care to skate?”

Bruce eyes his hand. The glove is red leather, rather nice, no doubt stolen. He quiets the growling beast inside himself and takes Jerome’s hand. The moment he does music starts up around them, as if straight out of a hallmark film. The upbeat tones of Crazy Little Thing Called Love waif through the air. Bruce braces himself.

Jerome snakes an arm around his back and pulls him closer. Even though Bruce is taller than Jerome now (something Jerome has noted with the strangest satisfaction), that doesn’t stop the other man from taking the lead. Bruce tries not to flinch as he feels Jerome’s arm settle tightly against his lower back. He rests his arm on Jerome’s shoulder and allows the other man to sway them to the music. It was a bit difficult, seeing as he wasn’t an excellent skater, but he was sufficient enough that he could glide around without falling. 

Jerome on the other hand seemed to have no trouble at all. He must have learned balance techniques while at the circus. Knife throwing, snake charming, bomb making, and now ice skating? Bruce finds himself growing more and more curious at all the things Jerome could do. Maybe he should start making a list. Just to catalog it all. So he could better prepare himself in the future.

As they sway and skate, Bruce waits for the other shoe to drop. Waits for the death trap to spring. What was it this time? Was Jerome going to stab him with the blade of his ice skates? Order his goons to shoot Bruce when the music stopped? Was there a weak spot in the middle of the rink that Bruce would suddenly drop down into and drown?

But Jerome twirls him around and around Bruce grows dizzy from paranoia. Mere speculation would not help him here. He must first observe. Pick apart what is different. And make a strategy.

Jerome digs his fingers into Bruce’s back a little too hard. “Stop it. You’re thinking too much. Just enjoy it Bruce! I’m trying to show you something here!”

“And what exactly is that?”

Jerome looks hurt. “All these years and you still don’t get it.”

“What I get is that you’re a psychopath who belongs in the insane asylum.”

Jerome’s expression drops. He jerks Bruce to him, chest to chest, and suddenly dips them. Bruce grips Jerome’s shoulders, unable to do much else to prevent himself from falling backwards. He doesn’t trust Jerome to hold him up.

There is shouting around them. It’s growing louder. The police have finally arrived.

“I thought we could mix it up this year.” Jerome says, voice unsteady. “You try to kill me for a change?”

His eyes are focused, solid. They are pouring into Bruce as if seeing every dark thing the young billionaire has ever thought. 

“And how would I do that exactly?” Bruce feels himself talking but doesn’t quite register the words. “You’re the one holding all these people and myself hostage.”

Jerome’s lips pull back over his teeth. An odd expression on his face. Bruce hardly feels it when Jerome pulls him back up from the dip. His center of gravity is still off, like if he takes away his hands from around the other man’s shoulders he’ll fall. 

Gently, almost lovingly, Jerome reaches out to take Bruce’s right hand off of his shoulder and slowly guides it down his torso. He steers Bruce’s hand down to his waist and let’s him feel the hard object sticking out there. Bruce clasps his fingers around the handle of the knife and Jerome lets go. 

He pulls it out slowly. Was this a bluff? It didn’t feel like a trick knife. Bruce presses the knife’s tip against the soft gut of Jerome’s belly and hears a satisfactory sigh. He moves the tip up, over Jerome’s heart, and feels the clasp of Jerome’s hands behind him. Locking them together in this dance. 

Bruce pauses. Waiting for Jerome to snap into action. Waiting for him to pull the curtain. To be shot in the back maybe. But nothing happens.

He moves the knife up until it is settled under the other man’s chin. He forces himself to look into Jerome’s eyes. They reveal nothing. No fear. No regret. No anger or curiosity. Only the tiny little lift at the corner of his mouth. Daring Bruce to do it. 

Bruce lowers the weapon, hands steady as they’ve always been. He throws the knife away to the side. “No. Not everyone is like you Jerome. Not everyone is a monster.”

Jerome tchs, looking wistfully in the direction of the knife. “Disappointing.”

-

Jerome has been following him for a good 4 hours now. So far he’s been able to piece together that Bruce is apparently trying to find someone named Joe Chill or whatever. He’s still not entirely sure why, something to do with his parents, but what he does know is that watching Bruce play detective is incredibly fascinating. He should really make a note to tag along on Bruce’s adventures more often! What fun, what fun he was! Did little Brucie want to be like Jim Gordon when he grew up? He shakes the mental image away, ugh, please no. Jim was such a stiff all the time.

Jerome isn’t used to staying in the shadows like this. He’s a man meant for the spotlight, but even he can admit there are times when hiding is necessary. 

But the game finally comes to an end when Bruce is caught breaking into an abandoned facility. 

“Alfred!’ Bruce nearly jumps but resumes his calm persona. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d ask you the same Master Bruce.” Alfred’s face holds a no-nonsense tone.

“How’d you know I was here?” Bruce asks, ignoring Alfred’s question.

But two can play that game, and Alfred does his version of a shrug. They stare at each other for a moment. 

“You might want to answer my questions, Master Bruce, because I’m not sure you’ll receive the same treatment from the police.”

“What??”

The siren blares up and Bruce whips his head around to see the police cruiser coming towards them. He looks back at Alfred, betrayed.

“Alfred! How could--”

“How could I?” The butler raises his voice. “You sneak out for hours at a time, make me worried sick, and you continue to pry and investigate dangerous things that can get you killed or worse! You told me you wouldn’t do this on your own anymore and yet you are! _You’re_ the one who betrayed _me_!”

Bruce’s mouth snaps shut and the two stare at each other while the police car pulls up beside them. Harvey steps out with Jim right behind him.

“I think you need to learn there are consequences to your actions.” Alfred says softly. 

Harvey and Jim look slightly uncomfortable. Jerome bites his hand to hide his laughing.

Bruce clenches his jaw. Chin held high, he turns away from Alfred and walks over to the two detectives. He holds his hands out to Jim. “I’m trespassing on private property, I’m ready to be taken in now detective.”

-

Alfred had apparently not been expecting Bruce to be so stubborn. He’d only called Jim so he could try to help him talk sense into the boy. That what he was doing was dangerous. He should have known it’d backfire.

Jim was reluctant to take Bruce in, and he’d kept glancing Alfred’s way sending distress signals seeing as Harvey wouldn’t even look him in the eye. In the end, after an incredibly long and uncomfortable half hour of soft arguing and gentle pleading, Jim puts Bruce it the back of the car. He walks over to Alfred and assures him they won’t be very long. He can follow behind them if he likes. 

Bruce sits in silence in the backseat. He keeps his head down and tries not to look at anyone in particular. A part of him knows Alfred is right and that’s what makes him so angry. He did promise to let the other man in. But when it came to his parents everything just unraveled so easily. 

The drive to the station is short and Bruce lets Jim lead him inside. They’re about to sit down at the desk when Jim’s phone rings. Bruce watches as the other man’s face pales slightly, recognizing the phone number. 

As if completely forgetting all about Bruce, Jim presses the answer button and holds it up to his ear. He can’t hear what’s being said, but Bruce knows it isn’t good.

“Where are you?” Jim’s voice is thick with emotion. Beside them, Harvey looks worried.

The line goes dead and Jim looks over at his partner. “She’s…she’s got--”

“It’s okay, Jim.” Harvey hushes him. “We’re on it.”

Jim’s eyes flicker over to Bruce, as if just then remembering he was there. “Something’s come up. I’m sorry. Listen you can go. You don’t have to--”

“It’s fine, detective.” Bruce says. “Alfred wants me to learn a lesson. I doubt I’ll learn anything if you just send me on my way.”

Jim sighs, like the pressure of all the world is on his shoulders. He leads Bruce over to a cell and locks him in. 

“We’ll be back.” He says gruffly. Bruce nods.

He watches them leave and lets out a breath. He turns to look at his surroundings. His cell is empty save for a bench and he gratefully sits on it. In the cell next to him Bruce can see a dirty mop of hair and ragged clothes. A street bum no doubt. Bruce tries not be rude and hold his nose. He simply turns his head away and struggles to breath deeply from the overpowering smell.

“Oh come now, I didn’t think I smelled that bad?”

Ice freezes his veins. Bruce turns his head to find a familiar smile glistening at him through the bars. The pit in his stomach drops out.

He stands up, reaching for the nearest guard. “What day is it??” He asks desperately. “Does anyone know what day it is?” But the other officers ignore him. They weren’t too concerned with the spoiled rich kid who was freaking out because he was in a jail cell for the first time in his life.

The hopelessness in the pit of his stomach crashes against the rising anger in his gut. Anger that he’d be this stupid. That he’d been so preoccupied with Joe Chill he’d forgotten about anything else. He’d foolishly run around trying to find answers. He should have listened to Alfred. He should have--he stops.

“You.” He turns to Jerome. “You’re the one that tipped off Alfred.”

Jerome lifts a careful eyebrow. “Am I?”

“What’s your plan?” he hisses. “Whatever it involves, leave these people out of it!”

Someone shouts behind him and Bruce whips around to see a smoke grenade go off in the middle of the room. Utter chaos ensues in seconds.

Bruce coughs, trying to push his nose into his shirt to breath. He rattles the cell door, not really trying to accomplish anything other than to confirm that yes he was very much trapped in there. Dammit! He can’t believe he’d forgotten to stash some pins in his pockets before going out. Perhaps Alfred had a point somewhere in his declaration that Bruce tended to to irrational and sloppy when it came to investigating his parents.

The door to his right creaks open and Bruce watches in horror as Jerome reveals a lock pick in his hand. He shrugs the hobo rags off revealing a purple, skin-tight v-neck underneath. Jerome tugs the wig off and throws it away into the crowd of screaming and fighting. Clownies descend upon the station in madness. 

He whistles cheerfully as he walks over to the door of Bruce’s cell. He jams the pick inside and wiggles it around. “Well, Bruce dear boy, it’s been fun. And I _do_ actually mean that.” he says in a disturbingly sincere voice. “But all good things must come to an end.”

The lock clicks open and Jerome pulls a gun from his pocket. He points it straight at Bruce’s chest. “Look at it this way, I’m reuniting you with your parents!” He gives a giggle-snort, followed by a body shaking hacking.

There’s a loud bang and Bruce flinches. Jerome blinks. He looks at his gun. Unfired. He turns around. Jim Gordon stands there, teeth clenched and pissed off. “Get away from him!”

Jerome does a little whine and stamps his foot. “You’re supposed to be off chasing Barbara!”

“Well next time you try to send me on a wild goose chase try not to make it so obvious!”

Jerome growls, murder in his eyes. He chuckles darkly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He shoots without warning. Jim shouts, ducking behind a desk. Once, twice, Jerome shoots again and again until the gun finally clicks. Empty. Bruce feels a spike of panic, he can hear Jim’s breathing spike and fall. He must have been hit. Hopefully nothing vital. 

Jerome swivels back to Bruce. He starts to take aim before realizing his over-zealousness has once again left him without any ammo. He really should make an effort to start saving his bullets one of these days. He tilts his head, frowning a little, and contemplating whether he should call it in yet or not. He didn’t bring a back up gun. And he doesn’t have a knife. But then he was in a police station. He could just go steal one from someone else.

But before he can make another move, more officers show up in the entrance along with a whole lot of yelling. Jerome closes his eyes and gives an exasperated groan. Oh well. Jerome tosses the gun aside in a dramatic gesture. “Guess today’s not the day after all.” He gives a little shrug at Bruce. “What ya gonna do?”

Jerome tuns on his heel quick as a wink and blows a kiss over his shoulder. “Byeeeeee!”

Momentarily stunned, Bruce stares after him. He breathes. He blinks.

No. No way. He feels the anger rising and Bruce furiously pushes his way out of the open cell. He was tired of this shit and it was going to stop _right now_. Without thinking, without having a real plan, he chases after him. All he knows is that he doesn’t want Jerome to get away yet again.

He hurries out back and catches the tail end of the other man dashing into an alley. He follows after. His footsteps clomp on the ground. He’s not trying to be stealthy.

He turns the corner into the entrance to the alley only to stop dead. Jerome is several feet in front of him. His hands are hand up in a position of surrender. An angry cop Bruce cannot put a face to is pointing his gun at him.

“That’s the last time you invade our turf you little shit!”

“My apologies. I figured you guys would have upped the security since last time. I honestly thought it wouldn’t be so easy. My mistake.”

“Shut up!” they spit at him. “You die! Now!”

When they question him about this incident later, when Jim asks him why, Bruce will not be able to answer. He does not know himself. Why his body moved the way it did. Why he didn’t just stand aside and let this monster of a person die. He just knew, somewhere deep, that it was wrong. 

He crashes into Jerome, pulling him down onto the dirty pavement. Jerome squeals with surprised laughter and rolls them both over. 

“No get out of the way!” The cop wavers, trying to steady himself. 

Jerome kicks Bruce in the shin and scrambles away. He does it too quickly. Too fast. He takes something out of his pocket and throws it up. Startled, the officer lifts his gun to shoot at it. 

It was a quarter.

Jerome tackles him. Twisting the gun away in vicious one-mindedness. He shoots him before Bruce can even scream. 

“No!” Bruce tries to stand up. Green eyes flicker towards the movement and Jerome wheels the gun on him. Bruce stops immediately. Jerome’s face splits into a grin as he inches closer. Closer. Till he has the gun pressed up against his forehead.

Breathing hard, they stare at each other. This close, Bruce can see Jerome’s eyes dancing. The way the other’s eyes were lit up with excitement. No. No that was wrong. To say so would imply that there was anything bright about Jerome. And there was nothing bright about the way Jerome’s pupils grew wide with elation, how those eyes darkened and his lips twisted upwards.

One hand comes up to stroke his face and Bruce jerks away. “You,” Jerome says quietly, a touch too close to reverence, “are endlessly entertaining.”

Bruce breathes heavily, trying to catch his breath and quiet his own anger. “I’m not here for your entertainment Valeska.”

Jerome chuckles. “That’s what you think. We’re in this together, darling. Whether you like it or not.”

-

Near the end of the year, Bruce Wayne leaves Gotham without a word. Without a sign. There’s no trace to where he’s gone or if he’ll be back. The city sleeps. And Jerome waits.

-

Bruce cracks open an eye. It takes a moment to adjust to the dark of the room. He does not know how or why, but something is amiss. 

It’s not the warm body next to his, nor the flash of red hair that give rise to this feeling. He has been working on his playboy persona, and the general public is eating it up as expected. It is common for Bruce to bring girls home these days. But it’s only when it dawns that he had _not_ in fact taken anyone home last night does it realize why he is on edge. 

Bruce tenses, body simultaneously stilling and jumping into action. He tries to move, to sit up or spring back, to find out who is in bed beside him. But his limbs won’t obey. And that is when the panic sets in.

Jerome yawns, stretching beside him. “G’morning!” He drawls, curling into Bruce’s side as if they’d done this every morning. As if Bruce hadn’t been gone from Gotham for years. 

“Happy Anniversary.” He snakes an arm over Bruce’s paralyzed side to explore the new muscles there. 

Bruce feels idiotic. The reason he’d left in the first place was to train. To become better. Become faster. To become something more. And yet this criminal had snuck into his home and drugged him like it was nothing. Perhaps if Bruce had been paying attention he’d had realized Jerome’s sick little anniversary game was coming up. But that had been so long ago. He would have thought Jerome had forgotten. And he’d been so busy since coming back to Gotham. Cleaning up the streets. Taking on a name. Becoming a hero.

Gotham whispered his name through the alleys. Criminals were starting to fear him. Bruce had been drunk on success. His plans were all coming to fruition. He’d been so caught up in fighting as the Batman, he’d completely forgot how to fight as Bruce Wayne. For the most part, Jerome had seemed completely infatuated with Batman. Unsurprising, but annoying nonetheless. Bruce had rather hoped the mad man had forgotten all about his little feud with Bruce Wayne. But as Jerome’s hands wander over his chest it becomes blaringly apparent that was not the case at all.

“You have no idea how hard it was to get past your security.” Jerome giggles. “It was actually a challenge for once.”

Bruce tries to move his lips, but they felt too sluggish. Any words he might have made come out as angry little groans. Jerome places a hand over his mouth, smooshing his lips together. 

“Shhhhush. It’s okay.” The mad glint in his eyes glows brighter. “You know, I really missed our little chats. You never called. Never wrote.”

Fingers poke and prod at his chest. “Looks like someone has been working out.” The hand travels lower. “You’ve really grown into quite a— _ah_ —man.” 

Bruce growls, though it only serves to make Jerome smile wider. Then the hand stops suddenly. Jerome pulls back fully looking frightfully serious. His face pausing into a deadly blank.

“Bruce I have to tell you something.” His tone is dark. Bruce is reminded of a soap opera he’d once seen on TV when he was little. When the husband had come home to finally tell his wife he’d been cheating on her. 

“I’ve met someone else.”

The facade breaks and he dissolves into giggles. Tears stream from his eyes and he wipes then away. Jerome sits up, propping himself on Bruce’s pillows. 

“It’s not you, it’s me. We’ve grown apart. We’re headed down different directions.”

Bruce twitches his hand. There’s some feeling in his pinkie. He tries to imagine that feeling spreading through the rest of his hand and up his body.

“No hard feelings right?” Jerome takes his head in hand and forces him to nod. He grins at him. “There’s a sport! I knew you’d understand!”

The man whirls up from the bed in tangle of limbs. Jerome walks towards the window and spreads his arms out.

“I’ve met my soulmate.” It’s said in an almost reverent awe. “I know, I know. Me? Believing in soulmates? What kind of joke is this? I gotta tell you Brucie, I never thought I would be one of those loonies that believed in love at first sight. Those people are crazier than me!” He pauses to laugh. Then he looks back out the window to the city and sighs dreamily. “But it exists.” 

Bruce catches the glint of the knife in Jerome’s hands and he struggles faster. He had too many plans for this city just for this lunatic to kill him before he could even really begin.

“Funny though.” Jerome looks back at him, a curious glint in his eye. “That I meet the man of my dreams a couple months after you come back.”

And _that_ makes Bruce still. Legitimate fear pulls at his chest in the way not even the sight of waking up to Jerome’s scared face could. The man couldn’t know. He’d covered his tracks. Made sure. Yet as Jerome creeps closer, his eyes rake over Bruce’s body in a way he hadn’t done before. As if seeing him anew. 

“What a crazy, crazy coincidence huh?” Jerome’s smiles with his teeth. But as fast as it comes, in the next moment it is gone. Jerome plops onto the mattress beside him with a childish bounce.

“It’s weird though. I came here to _kill_ you, because obviously I can’t have my new man thinking I still have feelings for someone else, but my therapist tells me that the best way to move on from a former lover is to get a new one.” Jerome pauses, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Actually, now that I think about it I think she was talking about herself. She was blinking one eye a lot when she said it! HahaHAHaha!”

He laughs loudly. Spittle fly’s from his lips and lands across Bruce’s face. He snarls, unable to twist away. He wants to punch the bastard in the face. 

Jerome notices his hand trying to clench up and he pats Bruce’s chest apologetically. “I know, sweetie, breakups are always hard.” He scoots closer, pressing against Bruce’s bare skin. “Oh what the hell. One last one for old times’ sake.”

The moment Jerome presses their lips together Bruce bites down, relishing what little control he has over his own mouth. Blood spills over into his tongue and lips. Jerome laughs and Bruce swallows the sound until he feels like it’s reverberating off the sides of his lungs. 

Jerome’s tongue twists unpleasantly over his, lapping up the salty taste of his wound, and then unwinds their bodies. “Be seeing you around.” Jerome whispers. Then more loudly “Or not!” He shrugs. 

And then he’s gone.

Alfred appears 3 minutes later, an alarm having been tripped off on Jerome’s way out. He helps Bruce up, worried and doting. They’ll need to go over their security, yet again, and Alfred is already making a list of all the things they need to do to prevent further break ins. Alfred mentions Lucius Fox and by then Bruce is able to at least talk so they make plans to call him in the morning.

Blessed feeling returns to his arms, his legs, and his chest. Bruce can still feel the ghost of Jerome’s touch. He moves, gently pushing Alfred away as he heads to the bathroom. He closes the door and goes for the sink. The soap won’t wash away the warm taint of the other man’s skin, but he can still try. 

As Bruce stands there, bent over the sink, scrubbing away evidence and guilt, a thought roams to the top of his head. Thoughts of soulmates and Words. Bruce has never liked his Words. He doesn’t necessarily ignore them on purpose, he just has bigger things to worry about. Ever since his parents died he couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything else. Whether he wanted to or not. But he remembers being young, and he remembers looking at his wrist and hating the thing written there. At that age, he’d heard the words ‘Hello, young man’ a great number of times. Practically very time his parents introduced him to someone. His words implied that his soulmate was older. Much older. And at the time Bruce didn’t fancy a creepy old man as his One and Only.

It had been years since Bruce had last paid any attention at all to his wrist. Years since he even acknowledged that something was even written there. He doesn’t know why but he tries to think back, back to the first time they’d ever met. Back to the first thing Jerome had ever said to him.

He’d say he can’t remember, but he’d be lying to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) this is the jacket by the way in case your wondering so FEAST YOUR EYES ON THIS MONSTROSITY!! https://www.stylebop.com/en-us/women/parka-coat-with-fur-lining-260899.html?gclid=CjwKCAjwk4vMBRAgEiwA4ftLs_8j1ImianfRkTizNZ-e04Lsg1LR3UqRCZTjzEEL9Uq3oIcXtdKfmxoCuqYQAvD_BwE&tmad=c&tmcampid=158&adword=google_adwords/us/SHOPPING_US/AS65/&partner=google_stylebop_us


End file.
